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User blog:MichaelDiaz101/Survival of Scum: Part 1
''' January 14th, 2009, Vice City. 7:37 AM' By seeking justice in an unjust society one such agent had failed to mark the criteria for the law system in the early 21st century. After trying to overthrow the starch setup he was deemed unworthy of testimony and thus, sent to serve out a sentance deemed forth by the agency. This is James Foster, German-American, tall, good looking even for his age. He sat on the beach of Vice City overlooking the ocean, thinking, conspiring. His thoughts crying out in anguish, wishing that he held the position he did before. Here he was, on his way to some damned Mafia activist asshole, eliminating him from the gene pool, in hopes of bringing Vice City back to its previous fucking roots. His beach house had served as the sole point of the beach. This was just another scum who's existence had posioned the fucking earth with every breath his worm lungs had taken. The FIB had not sought to bring him to justice, but rather, to send him to one beyond the grave. After approaching the front deck James had seeked the chamber in his gun, thus having a bullet ready to fire at a given moment. He checked the silencer to insure that it was properly appiled, ''don't need a repeat of Alfonso Bay, ''he swiftly reminded himself of a previous experience when the silencer wasn't properly applied and caused a problem. This time it was. James moved to slip the bobby pin in the door and in no time had it opened to him. He surveyed the living room, not only was this career criminal bad, he was successful. Not even the greatest of FIB agents live life this large. James slipped across the room making no much as a fiddle in the landscape of the man's living room. He entered his target's bedroom and saw him still passed out on the queen sized bed. ''Wow, very easy pickings. ''He thought to himself. He put the gun to the man's head and pulled the trigger. Silence, no screams, no audible sounds of discomfort. He died in peace, which can't be said for the rest of us very well. James turned and slowly withdrew from the premises. Leaving VCPD or whoever to happen upon the body. 'January 14th, 2009, Liberty City. 11:22 PM''' Akara hadn't fully anticipated a trip to America this early on. She wished to remain in Cambodia, this was a true surprise for her. She was born in the city and lived in a city back home but Liberty City was something she'd never quite seen before. Getting fresh off the boat she looked onward at the city of millions of lights. "Never been to America, aye lass?" Asked her fellow immigrant, an Irishman by the name of Timothy Wright. They'd befriended each other over time. "No, not even my wildest imagination can fully describe what lies before me right now." Akara responded. "I'm not even quite sure where to go tonight." Akara continued. The Irishmen piped up immediately after her respones. "Hey, my aunt Maureen has offered me a place to stay, you can come with." That was an offer Akara simply could not refuse at this point. They had aquired a ride from designated transportation and arrived in front of a small flat in a sparse district. "Me cousin, Packie, moved to Los Santos." Tim told her, "so, there'll only be three of us for the time bein'." He informed her. Akara was awestruck, not many words could be conceived and appropriately expressed. The city she grew up in hardly broke 100,000 and only a few square miles, this city dragged on and on. She'd heard about in legend, the gateway to the West. Liberty City is the biggest city on earth. They exited the taxi and went into the small, well developed, home. They approached quietly, so as not to disturb anyone's sleep. Akara slumped down on the couch and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the bed. January 15th, 2009, FIB Base, Liberty City Precinct, 5:25 AM James had boarded his flight and landed back in Liberty City before sunrise. He never missed this place, the hustle and bustle, for the small town man was something he completely disliked. At 5 AM you'd think Liberty City was primetime America. He'd reached his designated location before 5:30 and had established a meeting with his handler, John Kingston. James relationship with his superior wasn't the greatest. John hadn't quite understood the idea behind his suboordinate, James, who would purposely disobey an order for what he viewed to be, his own personal gain. James, however, knew that his stubborness was serving something greater then what was initially planned. They met in the discussion room on the 9th floor, classified floor, no admitance of civilian assets whatsoever. Whatever goes into this room is not to be discussed, or revealed elsewhere. There is a very strict line here, and they know when you fuck up. "James, your performance in VC was example." John began, "exactly textbook and of professional stature." John continued, James hadn't cared to say anything, he never really felt the need to speak. For this moment, however, he did. "So, am I no longer reprimanded and have I regained my momentum among the FIB's elite?" James asked him, quizically. "Not quite." John firmly replied to James's dismay. ''Of course, these buggers just like to put you on the short end of a very long stick, ''James thought to himself. "You need some fine tunning, and after the, uhm, incident in North Yankton you are citing possible insubordination charges following the apprehension of Michael Townley and his esteemed company of madmen." He already had the stern lecture from John. John was a self made man, who grew up rich. He was quite older then James but was a resident of Bullworth as well, he was among the community in Old Bullworth Vale. Rich and sophisticated, he always had nice, lavish suites, with a nice clean cut hairdo that made James sneer everytime he saw him. His outer appearance was something of a 'respectful man' but his actually story was quite different. John had been the source of many sex scandals and as James often joked the 'Bill fucking Clinton' of the FIB. His appearance was deemed a ruse by anyone that knew him personally. "Okay, what's next?" James asked, just wanting to get his next mission. "You're heading to Bullworth." John simply replied. James was confused. "Huh?" He asked. "There's been contraband from a possible terrorist link in the docks of Bullworth, I want you to solve this fucking thing once and for all." John sternly ordered of him. James rose from his seat and stormed past his superior officer with whom he had no respect for. Sandy Shores, San Andreas, January 15th, 8:00 AM The sun had risen high over the Grand Senora desert and by the early morning time the weather had reached into the high 80s. Jonathan would lie on the rough, beat up couch, until fragments of the sun peaked through the shades, instantly waking him from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes and slowly rose up. There was a loud knock on his trailer house. "Jon, JON!" He recognised the voice. It was his tiresome neighbor, Ron. "Yeah yeah, fucker, I'm coming." Jonathan yelled back. He attended to his lack of former clothing and put on sweat pants. Jonathan took a moment before opening his door to the conspiracy theorist maniac. "Hello Ronfuck." Jonathan greeted him with vicious intent. "Trevor needs you to make those jerks go away!" Ron said, exhaustedly, nearly heaving onto the dirt. "The yuppies?" Ron nodded in fear. "Oh, please. Trevor is afraid of a bunch of peace loving assholes?" Jonathan asked him, truly skeptical but also sarcastic too. "Trevor didn't go up there, I did, and they shot RPG's at me!" Ron replied, truly fearful for his life. Jonathan just began to laugh. "Ron, you are a fucking pussy." Jonathan said between his hysterical laughes. Jonathan fetched his Pistol and Assault rifle. "Okay, lets go get them." Jonathan said, they got into his truck and pulled out. Category:Blog posts